I sat on the very edge of my seat, my legs shaking with excitement. It wasn’t only my legs, my whole body was shaking with excitement, and even a bit of fear. What happens if he misses the goal, especially since its penalties? Well, for one my family will go nuts. Were that family that has something they watch every Friday night, and for us it’s soccer. So, when you’re at the World Cup with you whole family, and it’s the first time any of us have been, we expect the unexpected. I glance up right when he shoots, and the whole crowd goes berserk!

I was edging towards the back of the enclosure, my heart betting 200 miles per second. I’m surprised I’m still alive, and it’s extraordinary how it haven’t heard me yet. I reckon I’ve crunched about 12 leaves, all making a crackling noise. The worst ones are the black leaves, they leave a mark underneath your shoe. I poked at the wired fence, and questioned how fast I could climb it. I wanted to scream for mum with all my might, but it would hear me. I hear a crunch and I turn around, and I’m face to face with the flamingo. Dammit, I’m dead.

I jogged along the coastline and waved to a few people, so far no one’s noticed. They all smile at me and wave back, no one’s rude enough to look into my pocket. Even though I’m a teenager, they still give me that respect. But that’s pretty much the only respect I’ll get. Which is why, I can’t wait to be an adult. I glance around to check no one’s here, and sit on the sand right next to the water. I quickly drop it in, not sure exactly what it’ll do. And as I stared into the water, it began to turn green.

They were there, dancing around the trees in a unique, unforgettable jig. Like they had their own language, though they didn’t speak it or use words. They just flew around the nature beside them and followed each other north. They all knew where to go, but what a scene it was. Hundreds of millions of little flickers of lights, fluent to the time of the wind as they past. Like emblems of a fire they looked, but the magic and the mystery of the moment blew me away. As the wind blew them all around in perfect timing, the golden round lights soon vanished.

An airplane swept over me, my stomach flipping. Already that’s a bad sign, unless the passenger next to me doesn’t mind some eaten, yellow banana on them (the last one did). I can’t help it; I’ve always had a fear of heights. And the worst part is, I just don’t know why.

I walk towards the plane, my hands shaking. I wish I had my violin… that would make me less nervous. But that’s the reason why I’m going on this plane, to go to Julliard. I’m nervous, but this is my dream. And I’m not going to let some fear get in the way.

The headache is getting bigger. It feels like a migraine, though Mum says that’s over exaggerating. I’m also tired. Very tired. Like, so tired that I feel as if there’s little angels around me singing lullabies. I tell them to shut up, but of course, mum thinks I’m bonkers. Is SHE inside my head? Does SHE know how I’m feeling? Has she realized that I’ve got a big headache? That I’m tired. That I’m thirsty. That I’m hungry for chocolate. OF COURSE NOT!!!!

Mum walks in with that sleep medicine. Speak of the devil.

I drink it.

A whistle blew and everyone disappeared.

The goal I had for this wee is to try to make my piece more funny/ kid appropriate. So I channeled what I feel like when I’m sick, to what I’ve seen and heard when other people are sick, to create a story on a kids perspective on how they feel when their unwell. I feel I have competed my goal really well, and I decided I like this genre a lot and will try to write in it more often.

I looked at the statue next to me, my mind filling with questions. Where is he from? Who is he? What inspired people to create a statue of him? Is he important? Is he famous? What backstory does he have? I bookmark my page and stare at the man. The man who can’t be moved. A gripping title for sure but what plot? What theme to grip the readers by the hook? What spark to make them feel something? Something inspiring, something unique. The answer came to me right then, and that’s how the best-selling book “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved” was published.

My goal for this week is to really focus on my word choice, and to make it a different genre. For example, my word choice this week wasn’t to make it sound really happy or sad. It was to make it sound wise, and to make it sound inquisitive (which is why I also worked on putting more questions into my writing). I feel as if I have achieved this goal very well, and I hope you liked my piece as much as I did writing it.

As the flame flickered and then went out, I was terrified. All at once, my emotions took over. Fear, anxiety, stress, that was all I could think of. How can I be such an idiot to take this test? A stupid test on whether you could conquer your fear. And it’s proven that I can’t, and will never, get over my fear of the dark.

The lights turn on as I stumble out of the locked room. I turn towards my cousins and sister, my glare filled with spite. Over the sounds of laughter I managed to say